I open my apartment door. I make sure to lock it before shutting it behind me. This is pointless. The doorknob left a hole in my drywall to prove that this lock is useless. The hallway is empty. Everyone else is asleep. Not me. I don’t sleep. The dark recessions under my eyes are proof of that. I creep down the stairs, making sure not to touch the railing. It is hanging out of the wall, ready to snap at any moment. The stairs are red, they look like fast-food restaurant tiles. This building used to be a restaurant. They sold submarine sandwiches. It went out of business.
A long trail of liquid stains the floor a darker hue. I don’t know what this stain is from. I don’t want to know. I push open the glass door at the bottom of the stairs. A long crack in the glass has been sealed with duct tape. Another crack is left exposed. I step outside. I light a cigarette. Why am I smoking? I quit for so long. I shouldn’t be smoking. I’m sick. I have trouble breathing. The addiction is too strong. It never goes away.
It’s raining outside. It doesn’t usually rain in March. I know it’s not really spring time yet. I can feel it. This is just a dirty trick. By morning the roads will be slick with ice. There’ll be wet snow slapping the lenses of my glasses. But for now, enjoy the rain. It’s refreshing. It makes me feel more alive.
I walk across the parking lot. It’s dark outside. Daylight Savings means nothing to me. I steal a glance up at the windows of the other apartments. Some of the lights are still on. I guess they aren’t all asleep after all. I don’t know any of my neighbours. I avoid them. They aren’t the type of people I want to associate with. I’m not one of them. I’m different. I inhale another long drag from my cigarette. I can almost feel my teeth becoming yellow. So much for that $5000 I spent at the dentist last year. The addiction is too strong. It never really goes away.
I turn the corner onto the street. My mailbox is number four. I always forget for a moment. The rain hits my face. It’s colder on the street than it was in the parking lot. At least it seems that way. A car speeds by on the rain slick road. I feel water kick up. A second later a cold gust of wind rushes by. It’ll definitely be cold by morning. This rain is just an illusion. It doesn’t mean anything. I fumble for my keys. Why do I have so many keys? I have keys to padlocks I no longer use. I still have keys to my parents’ house. I don’t like to throw things away. I’m sentimental. I wonder if they changed their locks after I left.
I tug on the mailbox. It takes a second to give. It’s frozen shut already. The night is colder than it seems. Finally it opens. No mail. Must be a weekday.
I turn the corner back toward my apartment building. Suddenly the rain doesn’t feel as refreshing as it did. I take one last puff of my cigarette. It’s soggy. It smells awful. I check my hand to see if the nicotine has stained it. Not yet. But it will. I’ll quit in the morning, I tell myself. I’ll brush my teeth when I get inside. I’ll wash the stink off my hands. I’ll quit again in the morning. It’s what I always tell myself.
I close my apartment door behind me. I make sure to lock it. It’s pointless, but it makes me feel safer. It’s late. I’m not tired. I can still hear the rain pelting the window. I sit down at the computer. I smell like cigarettes. I don’t know why I’m smoking again. I quit before but it was just an illusion. I only trick myself into thinking I’ve quit. The addiction never really goes away.
This rain won’t last. It’s just a false promise. There’s alot of that going around lately. There will definitely be snow by morning.
